So what
by CrimsonAnjel
Summary: (Taito): Inside the teenage mind of a boy who couldn’t get out. He was stuck and needed a key... a key that had brown hair and the softest eyes. (CH. 4 IS UP)
1. Prologue

(Inside the teenage mind of a boy who couldn't get out. He was stuck and needed a key… a key that had brown hair and the softest eyes.)

**A/N: **I don't know why I think it's necessary to write an A/N, but you guys seem to like them (considering all the crappy stories that get a lot of reviews because of funny A/Ns). This is my attempt at a **realistic Taito **that is unlike the cliché ones most authors write (including me)… There will be a lot of profanity and mature themes, note the rating. Being a teenager myself I know for a fact that yes, we do cuss up a storm and if you don't like the occasional cussing then don't flame based on that. This story may start off looking bleak, but I'm a balanced writer so I like to have a lot of good mixed with the bad.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Digimon in any way, shape or form.

**Prologue**

**By: CA**

"You'll understand when you're older." My teachers said this line to me often, as if I was still a child who didn't understand. They'd look at me over the brim of their thick glasses and see a sixteen year old boy, still in the womb of society. And if my appearance alone defined me, they were dead right; I was still a child. I was a teenage boy, complete with all the clichéd features. I wore slim, black pants and T-shirts that had funny lines on them or that showed off bands I listened to. But so what? If Albert Einstein wasn't a genius, what would he look like to people? He'd look like a mental case fresh out of crazy-town. The point is my appearance always made me out to be one of the crowd. I was categorized by the sea of students as another nameless face, and for good reason too. I looked the part.

Nobody knew that I wasn't a child. How could they? I looked like a child, talked like a child, walked like a child; hell, I even joked like a child. But I wasn't one. Yamato Ishida was no child; I didn't even know what the word meant. And if the world I lived could be called a "childhood" then I deserved a refund and a full apology.

I wasn't unaware of childhood as if it didn't exit. I saw what other, more fortunate kids experienced every day and knew damn well what everyone else got in comparison to what I got. It was obvious very early on that every other kid my age was blessed and I was cursed. Period. I don't care about those positive people who say "everyone has their ups and downs". Fuck them, they have no clue. I'm sure any loser with a sob story can write a book on the "woes of mankind", but they'd be writing crap. It killed me every day to see girls crying in the hallway over divorced parents or shitty boyfriends or anything for that matter. If those stupid things were all they had to cry about then they should've been jumping for joy instead of drowning in self pity. Seeing those emotional harpies cry their fucking brains out made me angry only because I wished I could cry too. The problem was, I didn't have time for self pity or that "poor me!" bullshit. In my situation, breaking down was not an option. And I could take it all in, because I was in no way a child; and I never had been, no matter how many nights I laid awake in pain.

The best word to describe my place in life back then was "parent". I was the organizer, enforcer and distributor along with any other responsibility a parent is given. I was the parent because mine were not. My father was no more related to me than a distant cousin or uncle; he was never around to claim his title, so he doesn't deserve it. He worked around the clock, as if being a business man was the only thing in the world worth his time or patience. He would shut himself in his room and never come out leaving me to figure any problem out myself; independently. I often felt like his office was in a completely different world than the rest of the home. Like there was a paradise behind those cheery-wood doors that I wasn't good enough to see.

I lived in a house that many people would consider a mansion, yes. But I saw it as a glorified prison. My house was the best place I could be to feel safe, but also the worst because it reminded me of everything I disliked; everything that made me feel unsafe and--sterile. Family photos lined the hallway, showing off false flashy smiles that almost got me to hurl when I saw them getting nailed to the wall. There were hundreds of expensive art pieces dotted across every table and shelf; enough of it that sometimes I thought I was living in a worldly museum.

Every inch of the house was so insanely clean; it leaved even me wondering whether or not I lived there. Not a magazine or T.V. remote was out of place thanks to my cleaning schedule… Yes, I had a cleaning schedule. Every day I came home from school and was forced to do ridiculous amounts of work (including getting a better look at each art piece as I dusted them clean). I can't even stand the color yellow anymore after ripping up so many sticky notes in frustration.

Because I was the parent, I was also automatically the maid and caretaker of our "lovely home". I did the laundry, cooking, cleaning, tidying, lawn-mowing, yard work, and any other chore I was given on one of those famous Post-it notes. I swear I would have admired that house more if I wasn't the one keeping it looking so nice.

There were a lot of fun things I missed out on because of my fucking chores. I never had the chance to go to a friend's house or hang out with people my own age _ever_, which stopped me from making friends. There were more than a few times where I met a nice guy or girl who liked the thing I liked… Bur as soon as they asked the famous question: "D'you wanna hang out sometime?", I had to clam up and stop talking to them. After awhile, people stopped talking to me and I got used to being alone.

It was just me and my chores most of the time; and it sucked. Most teenagers got maybe two or three things off the endless list of chores to do; I did it all. I was proud of the fact that I could do it well and avoid my father's anger; but to get to that point I had to go through countless groundings and punishments for "ignoring the post-its". I even made the mistake of asking my father if we could hire a nanny to help out… About twenty belt whippings later he made it clear that I was plenty enough staff.

Parent and maid… It would've been nice if those were the only two occupations forced on me. But how could I be a "parent" without any children to raise? That's right, I was also the nanny. I have one younger brother, Takeru or TK who was enough work every day to be equivalent to two or three kids. Yeah, TK was a hand, but I was used to hard work and he loved me a hell of a lot of more than the front yard did. No one messed with my younger brother because I made it clear that he was off limits. He was too important and smart to get sucked into the toilet flush I called school and all the self-centered kids who went there. So I made it my personal goal to sacrifice my time so he could have a better life than I was having and be everything that I wasn't; happy. I wanted TK to have a childhood; I would've given anything, even my own freedom, for that to happen. And that's why as I dumped another pile of dirt into the trash I smiled and kept going… For his sake, not mine.

Dad never cared how the chores got done; just that they did. He didn't even notice when I ripped off the post-it notes addressed to TK and did the work myself; he didn't care, as long as his mansion was clean and his kids pretended to be happy. He left it all alone and went back to his sacred work in his forbidden office. He left us alone and cold.

I finished sweeping the floor easily and knew that everything was done besides making dinner. I flopped onto the leather couch to rest my over-worked eyes for a few moments. Lasagna didn't take long to prepare if it came from a freezer, so I figured ten minutes wouldn't hurt and I was damn tired…

I was wrong.

In what seemed like only fifteen minutes I opened my eyes to check the wall clock and found that I couldn't read the dial. The living room was darker than before and that meant only one thing to me; I overslept. I glanced in shock at the digital clock to my right and sure enough, I was an idiot. I knew that this day was going to be crap as soon as I woke up and I didn't have any choice but to accept it; I was going to be punished.

As quickly as my tired legs took me I rushed into the kitchen, slamming my foot into a stool in the process. I Cursed the gods who though of that joke, and tore open the freezer and found---nothing? The damn thing was empty…

"Dad's going to be home soon. You should set up the table." I turned swiftly around while grabbing my injured foot and saw TK leaning against the wall with ice cream in hand. He smiled at me and pointed to the oven. I didn't even have to look; I could smell the meat cooking… TK saved my ass. I chuckled lightly and let my foot down. He was starting to catch on.

"Thanks, bro. Go wash up and I'll have it all ready in a minute. And put that crap back before Dad sees you pigging out." TK rolled his eyes sarcastically and threw the ice cream back into the freezer and left.

I can't even begin to describe how relieved I felt while setting the table. Something is simple as not having dinner ready when dad came home was only a taste of the kind of fear I lived in. It was scary to even live there knowing that at any time I could get hurt. I never had a clue when to expect him to get angry with me; even if I thought I knew when to expect it, it always came as a surprise. Most times it was small things that set him off, like forgetting to cook dinner for example. But once my father began to vent, stopping him was like stopping a train with a toothpick. That man didn't care for me any more than he would a trophy; a trophy he hit and yelled at until it lost its luster. Yeah, life was black and white as far as "expectations" went; but even meeting those didn't stop him from coming at me; he always seemed to be pissed at something----me. His fists and my head or stomach or back always seemed to meet each other and nothing I could do would change that. I see now that I was wrong to think that I could be "good" enough for him to leave me alone; he was going to hurt me no matter what. The only thing I could do to help was take all the heat and save TK from getting hurt. That was my own and only goal.

My father would never lay a finger on him EVER.

And he knew it too. He saw TK crouching in the corner of many rooms, crying and screaming for him to stop hurting me. He smiled at me even brighter when TK would cry because he knew that I was taking one for the team. So, in light of that, he hit me harder.

He was a monster, but I don't want to paint a picture that my father was a drunken fiend, dirty and abusive. He was a prim and proper business man, with a stiff jaw and an equally as stiff upper lip. He didn't come back home _drunk _and beat the shit of me like any normal abusive parent. He didn't need booze to do that. And after he stopped he'd smile at me, brush off his tweed jacket and say "Yamato, learn some discipline and you will not have to face consequences." As if forgetting to say hello when he entered a room was the biggest crime on earth…

TK was 13 by that time and started realizing the situation more clearly. He understood that I was the tank that took all the crap, and he was the flower blooming behind it. I had to be the tank; who else would be? It sounds sick and twisted, but I didn't mind getting the shit kicked out of me if he could have it good. I dared that man to even lay a finger on Takeru; I dared him with my eyes each and every time and he didn't make a move and he got the message that TK was off-limits and that I was his replacement.

My life was a bowl of shit, but so what? I wasn't complaining; at least I was alive. I was happy that night as I set the table. I was never religious, but I thanked any god who could hear me for TK's help. His help came as a sign and made me happy and worried at the same time. He was starting to put everything into perspective and once he did, I couldn't shield him anymore; he was on his own and open to the world. And if TK was on his own then I had nothing left to do besides getting out myself… The flower would bloom soon and when it did the tank would have nothing to protect but himself. And I hoped even more that night in bed that I could get out of the hell. Freedom was a door just down the hall.

To open it I'd need a key…

XXXXXX

Please tell me what you think! Oh, and before I forget. I'm going to be leaving tomorrow for a week so it'll be that long before I can post the next chapter. (And if you're readings any of my other fics, it'll be that long until I can finish writing the chapters and post 'em)

Thank you

CA


	2. Lockers and Frustrations

**A/N: **So far interest in this story and my other Digimon story aren't very high. There must be a lot of Taito fics to choose from out there . I'm going to keep writing though because I love to do it and I love this pairing! I am eternally grateful to my friends who have reviewed so far, you guys are the best!

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Digimon or any references to licensed material.

**Chapter 1: Lockers and Frustrations**

**By: CA**

School was easy and boring. For me, boring was amazing… Seeing the sea of students walking around me every day was comforting no matter how much I disliked all of them. I had no friends, but I still liked to be around people.

"Hey! Matt-bro, get over here." TK called to me from the other end of the busy hallway.

"Whaddya want, squirt?" He frowned and stomped over to me.

"I want you to help me with my math homework." Yeah… Always an ulterior motive with this one.

"Are you retarded? I have five minutes to get to French… I'll look at it after school." TK smiled his thanks before disappearing into the sea the again.

The very beginning of school and teachers were already assigning crap. I should've been complaining but truthfully it was a good thing… It gave me more excuses to lock myself in my room forever.

I could tell even on the first day of school that sophomore year was going to be only slightly better than freshmen year. The people were the same, only older; the teachers were the same, only different. And after a summer of hell, I was even more detached and icy… Great.

I walked somberly to my locker—if I could find it, to get my stuff for Francais. I knew it was on the third floor, but last year most of my classes were on first and second as well as my locker so I didn't know it as well. I finally found my way around the endlessly hallways to locker number 3028. But by the time I started turning the digits to unlock it most of the students had found their classroom… Double great. First day of school and already a tardy.

I kept turning the dial in a mad rush and for some reason the damn thing wouldn't open. "Fuck!" I kicked it hard and cursed the assholes who made the metal pieces of crap they called lockers. I heard a chuckle from beside me and looked up with a famous death glare to let whoever it was know not to fuck with me. The boy next to me kept laughing and then did something unexpected. He reached over and hit the side of the locker and it opened on contact. My death glare melted and I didn't know what to say.

"All third floor lockers are like that. Just hit the side and it should open every time." With a final smile he ran off to get to his class leaving me in total shock.

I came to my senses after a second and began muttering darkly about over-confident assholes on my way to class. Lucky for me, my French teacher came in late so, obviously, I didn't get a tardy.

Throughout the day I couldn't pay attention to any of the lame introductions in class. I kept going back to that boy in hall who couldn't read the "leave me alone" I had in place for years. No one ever walked up to me, let alone a cheery-eyed boy who wanted to _help _me. It just did not compute in my head why anyone would ever _ever _give me a hand. This line of thinking is understandable though after years of being told you're ugly and worthless. But even so, despite myself I was hoping to see him again… And hell if I knew why.

When the last bell rang, my wish was granted. I found my locker again and standing right next to it was the same brunette boy from earlier. He wasn't that hard to remember considering his floppy, untamed hair and unusually tanned skin tone. Not to mention his image had been running through my mind all day.

I walked up to my locker without a sideways glance towards him and fumbled with the dial for a second. I remembered the trick and hit the side of it and, of course, it popped open.

"See? Told ya, it works every time." I turned my eyes in his direction and smirked.

"I would've gotten it without your help."

With that, I grabbed my remaining stuff and walked away in spite of the confused look on the boy's face. I would have thought the way he scrunched up nose when he got confused was cute if I didn't already hate him.

I never had trouble hating anyone. Give me any crappy reason and that's enough to make it work. This was different though… On the bus ride home I actually felt bad for the way I treated someone who was only trying to help. So what! Lots of people tried to help me on a lot of occasions. Did I feel bad for ignoring them? No. In fact, it pissed me off that I felt bad; I never thought I'd have a reason to feel bad about anything. And this was _just _some kid I didn't even know. Really, who cares!

I couldn't help it. I did.

XXXXX

I don't know how well I wrote that chapter, it was sort of a rush in my opinion (its not like anyone is reading anyways, lol ;) ) . Please leave me a comment and I'll keep feeding you more

Thank you

Love

CA


	3. Call Me Tai

**A/N: **Wow, I have way more inspiration for this story than I expected. I just want to keep writing and posting, hehe. Whoever reads this gets a gold star! But yeah, here you go, another brand spanking new chapter. Enjoy…

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Digimon, although I've been told I should ;)

**Chapter 2: Call Me Tai**

**By: CA**

The next morning I woke up feeling even less comfortable than the day before. I didn't want to go to school because I was afraid of seeing _him _again. It made no sense why I was afraid of that sarcastic prick; I had no respect for him and that should've been reason to ignore him even more. It was all just too weird! No one tried giving me a hand or even attempting conversation with me since third grade when I made it clear that I was not to be fucked with. I was the _one _person everyone knew to leave alone. So what was this kid's problem? Was he blind, deaf, retarded? I practically had a billboard floating above my head stating in bold letters:

**Fuck off**

See? That's a simple enough sentence! Fuck off! Go away! Be gone! Leave me alone! But he didn't, and it shocked me. So as I shuffled through the morning crowd that day only one thing came to mind: 'Please god, let me never see that prick again!'

Yeah, like I had the karma points stored up for that one…

As soon as I trudged up to my locker in my usual black attire I noticed the bushy hair out of the corner of my floating above _my _locker. I heaved an irritated sigh and gave a little sarcastic smile at the smiling demon scratching his head in front of _my _space. He didn't get the hint and spoke up in that same loud voice I was beginning to despise.

"Hey man, sorry about the other day. I didn't mean to intrude or anything." I grunted and brushed past his grinning form. I hoped that I could just ignore the fly and it would buzz away. But damn if flies aren't persistent.

"Okay then… If you need any other tips, just call Taichi Yagami. I'm the locker right next to ya." I had enough. I turned to him swiftly (partially out of anger and partially because I couldn't get my damn locker open again.)

"Let me make something clear, kid. I don't like you, got it? Now if you'll excuse me, I have classes to get to." I had used the old Yamato charm and whipped up the coldest sentence I could think of… But for some reason, the little demon wasn't phased at all. He just continued grinning like a mad-man at me. He shook his head slightly and reached around me with that talented hand of his and popped opened my locker like he had done yesterday. Without another word he grabbed his books and headed off into the sea.

God I hated him.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Classes were horrible that day. Everything any teacher wrote on the board didn't mean a thing to my brain. Every line of chalk somehow molded into the face of the tanned boy who dared cross a line. I wasn't afraid of him, and I knew exactly why I was so interested in the prick; it was simply because he was interested in me. I didn't _want _to think about him or anything to do with him, but I was. And I was never one to stop the flow of my own mind, so what would it hurt to just think about him? I was bored and tired and for some reason his face brought an odd comfort that I enjoyed. I really liked the way his ugly hair sat upon his funny-shaped head; the way his chocolate brown eyes complimented his tanned, clear skin. It was only a picture in my mind; it wouldn't hurt to look.

The thing is, no one ever stopped to ask me anything, so how would they know my sexual orientation? No one knew my favorite color so why would they know that I liked guys instead of girls? It was no big deal to me; I didn't even care about nor have any time for that hormonal crap, so whether I liked dick or pussy was a moot point. But just for a frame of reference—I'm gay.

And beyond my impression of the boy, I was in no position to keep talking to him. When everything in your life is built around your father's schedule, anything else becomes undoable. Anything including friends or love interests get thrown in the back burned and ultimately are forgotten… I wasn't born a cold asshole; I was brought up to be where I am and I've done a pretty good job so far of not going crazy. And yes, there is the occasional guy I stare at longingly from time to time, but I never make a move to try anything. Besides, why would anyone want a kid like me?

And that was just it. I sat there the whole day thinking 'Why is he doing this? Why is this kid purposefully trying to get my attention? …And why is he so damn hot?' By the end of the day his form had etched its way permanently into my brain and ultimately into my interest. How could I help it? I'm only teenager! I have needs too!

At the beginning of the day I was dreading seeing his face again; by the end I was hoping to walk up and find him standing there with that goofy grin placed on face as usual. One day I hoped to wipe that grin off of his face and I could think of many—er—interesting ways of doing just that. But as with everything else in my mind, whatever I hoped for the opposite happened… I should really think about getting that fixed…

I stopped by my locker after school only to see him walking away with his arm strewn lazily over the shoulder of some girl. I could almost see the grin on his face shine through the back of his head and I vaguely recognized the slim figure next to him—Mimi was her name? I'd rather call her Whore; I like that title a lot more. (Yes, I just rhymed, wanna do something about it?)

The marked the first time in a long time I had gone out of my way to pursue something and much like every other time—I failed. I guess its obvious where the deep-rooted dislike for the female population comes from. All the guys like them and all I see are a bunch of fluttery pansy sluts out to be a prize. Women represent everything I hated along with everything I wished I was. Who better to take my anger out on than a bunch of selfish girls?

And that's when I saw it. Poking my feet on the ground sat a history textbook. I quirked an eyebrow and picked up the lone book and flipped to the owners page. At the very bottom of the hand-me-down list in bold ink letters was scrawled "TaichiYagami"… Him. Forgetting everything I ever learned about ego I scooped up the heavy book and ran ahead to catch up with the demon and his shoulder whore. There was no one pushing me to help the guy out, but I wanted to. I finally saw the bushel of hair stick up fro mthe crowd of heads and I caught up to him laughing and telling jokes with even more people now.

As soon as I puffed up to him he raised an eyebrow and his warm smile deepened tenfold. I looked up and suddenly remembered my ego, plastering a cold and detached expression onto my face. I smirked and held out the textbook.

"I'm not gonna play lost and found every day," I flipped to the page with his name sarcastically "Taichi." He only chuckled at that and took the book from me. Everyone else in the group I noticed were giving me death stares—not like I wasn't used to that. Taichi just looked at me seriously and said, "Just call me Tai." Before turning and walking away with his bastard and whore posse in tow.

I hate it when other people get the last word. But the way he said his name, so short and sweet made chills run down my back. The demon's face was receding into an angel's and I couldn't do anything to tell my brain and heart otherwise. For no reason, I was starting to like this new arrival.

I was beginning to like----Tai.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

I hope you liked the chapter; I'll get the next one out soon.

Love

CA


	4. Books and Fights

**A/N: **This chapter's a bit longer since you mention that you'd like that. Plus it's been awhile so I thought I'd treat you. Just a reminder, this fic is sorta dark, so please don't tell me in reviews how you want me to make it lighter. The tone of my fic is entirely up to me. A big thanks to all of you who've reviewed, I really appreciate it. Thanks also goes to my beloved Neo-chan who mention me in her fic which was—beyond flattering.

Enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Digimon and I'm not making money off this.

**Chapter 3: Books and Fights**

**By: CA**

A few days passed after the boy introduced himself as Tai. I sat in my bed, away from the silence encompassing the empty mansion, and all I could do was think about his face. I was bored and there was nothing else to do but ponder about the asshole. TK must've been asleep because the only sound hitting my ears was the wall clock's steady tick. No sounds would be coming from my room anytime soon; I had nothing to my name, with my father believing presents to be "empowering and unnecessary costs". The silence didn't bother me anymore since I learned to tune out the weird noises houses make.

I sat upon my rough blankets on my simple bed, staring at blank walls in hopes they would pop out at me and turn into cartoons or games or something to distract me from thinking; even if half my thoughts were taken over by a certain annoying demon. I hated thinking because it always brought me to logical conclusions. Sometimes I hated being smart and being forced into getting straight A's or risk my father's wrath.

I only wanted to be an idiot; a kid with such a small intellect that any skills—including figuring this kid out—would be non-existent and I could live in a world of stupid bliss. I could count my blessings and roam through life without a cause. I had plenty to be thankful for, right? A roof over my head, food to eat, a brother to love and take care of. I had all the essentials, yes, but my idiot brain let me know easily that the essentials were not enough. I had no real _purpose _among the masses; I had no goals other than the day to day struggle. And even that line of thought brought me back to one conclusion…One man.

Didn't father know? Didn't it register in his statistical, business-like head that letting me go to school would only open up my resources? Would only have me understand the truths of my horrible lifestyle… or was that his point in all of it? Did he take sick pleasure in letting me peer into the world normal kids lived in? Did he want me to look so longingly at teenagers my age and know I could never have them as friends? It seemed far fetched even for him; but that was the only viable conclusion I could draw in my own mind. Putting all the blame for my suffering on him would suffice for the time being; at least long enough for me to get some sleep.

I curled over on my hard mattress, trying to find a comfortable position as lumps pressed uncomfortably into my back. My endless string of thoughts would never be broken, with nothing to distract me. Then, as quickly as my depression began, I remembered one option left; my one chance to get away from that world.

Rolling over on my stomach, I reached underneath the bed frame and dug out my backpack. Inside, among the dull textbooks and blank notebook pages sat a book, tattered and old. I smiled slyly at my secret; the guilty pleasure everyone else in English class took for granted. I would savor this book for as long as I could, with the pages as my guide to a different time, a different place—a new life away from life... if only for a few hours before I slept.

_Flashback_

"_Alright people. Sit down and shut your yaps!" Standing before the eager English Honors class was a teacher all the students at P.S. 32 adored. He was a hiatus away from the generally lacking array of teachers. He treated the students as adults every day and even joked along with them. And in return for that little show of respect the students had no problem turning in one writing assignment after another. The class would happily discuss the themes of the creative writing and for each new assignment he would think of a topic question at random instead of following the textbook he deemed unnecessary._

_Yamato liked this teacher as much as the next kid but his approval was slightly less obvious, considering he only spoke when asked a question. No one but the teacher paid any heed to Yamato as he sulked lazily in the back corner of the room, doing work by himself unless forced into a group. Today was different than most days in Mr. Springer's class, considering the news he was about to receive._

"_Wow. It only took five seconds for you fools to get quiet. That's a record, bravo!" That received a few sniggers from the loudest boys in the group. "Now that I have your attention, I just want to announce that we have a student transferring over from another class today." One kid shouted and asked who it was. "How the hell should I know?" He replied. More laughter followed._

_As if on cue, the heavy door swung open, revealing to the one person Yamato least expected. Maybe the Gods did enjoy fucking with him after all. Tai entered the room, receiving a few cat calls from the jokesters and preps in the group. All smiles, he walked to the front of the class right up to Mr. Springer._

"_Well hello there, teach." The boy proceeded to vigorously shake the chuckling teacher's hand. Everyone in the class thought the display was funny. Yamato was hardly amused by the little shit. He wished the boy would go back to the way he was, back when everything he said was short, sweet and in a tone of voice as sensual as honey. Not some loud-mouthed annoying loser who thought he ruled the school along with all the other big-headed asses. Yamato wanted to forget he ever saw Taichi in a class setting, laughing like a buffoon along with the idiots Yamato glared at daily.. _

_By the time he rushed out of class, ducking low and saying nothing as usual, Yamato just wanted to crawl into a corner and die. But today he didn't get very far as a firm hand rested on his shoulder, stopping him mid-stride. Turning with an icy glare his eyes met the laid back grin of his favorite teacher. _

"_Whoa, don't rush off so quick today. I want to talk to you for a sec, ok?" Yamato nodded promptly."I know you don't like to talk and that's fine. I just wanted to acknowledge the work you've been handing me. It always seems to be the quiet ones who have the most talent and you're no exception. C'mere for a moment, I want to give you something." Yamato nodded once more and followed him back to his now empty room. Mr. Springer reached into his desk for a moment and pulled out a book the blond had never seen before. Smiling, Mr. Springer slapped the book against Yamato's chest with an expectant grin._

"_There ya go. This book is a great read and I think you'll like it. Have you read it before?" Yamato stared down at the title of the novel. Les Miserables? He'd never heard of the damn thing and immediately assumed it was French. Mr. Springer caught on to the blonde's confusion by the way he scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion. "Uhh, the book isn't French. It just takes place in France. In any case, I want you to read it and see what you think. I don't normally give this book to sophomores considering it's a junior requirement, but you seem to eat this subject up!" Yamato's lips formed a half-smile as he stared at the lengthy title in his hand. That seemed to be enough acknowledgment for the teacher, as his clapped Yamato on the back and left him alone with a pass to next period._

_End Flashback_

The book I held in my hands was of considerable length, ranging at least a thousand pages long. The cover was white and on it was a stylized painting of a depressed little girl. Her matted hair flowed outwards in tattered ends and her childish eyes portrayed a sadness I recognized only by looking in the mirror. Did Mr. Springer give me this book because he thought I looked like her? I hoped I wasn't that obvious. And I didn't know much about the book besides what he told me, but I was ready to give it a try. Anything half decent was better than nothing.

I knew a lot about having everything and nothing at the same time. I knew it was child abuse that I wasn't even allowed to read the book, but how the hell could I change that? Father held me on a very tight leash, and reading this book was a first step into breaking the leash.

I was a teenager, dammit! Everything about me vacillated from good to bad, from happy to unhappy. I needed some sort of outlet—anything! My father left me nothing, not a scrap of individuality. It was almost like he was breeding me to be a domestic robot; living to serve his needs and nothing more. That's why as soon as my teacher handed me the book I hurried the school clock along in my head so I could go home and test out my new entertainment source.

As I ran my hands across the battered and used surface I heard footsteps approaching my door. If it was my father, he'd kill me if he found the book. So as quickly as I could I stashed the prize underneath my mattress and laid on my bed, trying to look as bored as ever.

The recognizable footsteps stopped outside my door and as usual, my father barged right on in. His face was a mix of anger and happiness; an expression I had long learned to fear. He had that look about it him that screamed "I caught you doing something wrong, and I get to punish you now!". He smirked at me evilly and without any words briskly walked up to my shivering form and slapped me across the face. Hard.

"You damn piece of shit! I told you to dust the den today!" He sneered in a sing-song tone. "There is dirt in my house that isn't supposed to be there—and its your fault!" Now that was no excuse at all. On none of the sticky notes from today did he mention cleaning the den! Was he looking for excuses now to hit me every day? I was damn tired of it, and had the bruises to back it up. He loved to hurt me, but this was the first time he went out of his way to achieve that goal. It was just—sick.

My tired face twisted into a hateful glare and I crawled back on my bed away from the monster. His smirk faded into an enraged expression as soon as I pulled away and he lunged after me to pull me back. I was quick enough this time to jump out of the bed as he swung and missed, falling on the bed himself. I ran full speed out of the empty room into the hallway, nearly slamming into my eavesdropping brother in the process.

"TK! Get the hell out of here!" I nearly screeched while still running. He turned towards my door in time to see father barreling after me. The man slammed TK into the wall while pursuing me down the stairs and he screamed in agony.

I had had it.

It was fine if he fucked with me, hit me, _whatever. _But touching Takeru was unacceptable. He knew _damn well _of the unspoken agreement to leave Takeru alone in exchange for me. I would _not _let him put his disgusting mitts on my TK! Not now, not ever! So I did a foolish thing to show him I was serious.

As soon as I hit the bottom of the stairs I swirled around and shoved my right fist as hard as I could into his stomach as he reached me. He doubled back immediately in pain and almost a second after recovered with a loud growl. It didn't have the effect I was hoping for.

"YOU LITTLE BITCH! How _dare _you hit me! I'm going to kill you!" He screamed fiercely as he punched me down... I hit the ground—hard. My head was throbbing and the crown of my head was right against the back of the couch. I had barely enough time to recover before it continued.

TK reached the stairs and was yelling in a shrill, high pitched voice for him to stop. But he wouldn't relent. He fell down upon me and beat the living shit out of me endlessly. I honestly didn't know if I was going to be alive as fist after fist hit my already bruised and mangled face and body. I couldn't see out of my eyes anymore and everything was becoming darker and more impossible to define. The weight upon my chest was becoming unbearable and I couldn't breath or think or feel. Was I going to die? Was I dumb enough to get myself killed over a stupid little dusting job?

Then, as quickly as his hard knuckles were on me, they stopped punching. I couldn't see through my swollen, tearing eyes or trust my hearing, but I thought I heard a loud cry of pain. Next thing I knew, TK was above me, screaming for me to answer him. He yelled for me desperately, shaking my numb form. I managed to call his name softly to let him know I was alright before slipping into unconsciousness... Into sweet darkness where the throbbing pain went away.

It was all ironic, really. I never expected this to be the night for him to go too far. I always imagined a huge lead up or argument to start it all. But everything changed drastically in those few minutes... All because of one stupid chore.

XXXXXXXXXXX

I like this chapter the best so far. You're right, it is better when it's longer. And I managed to put a cliffhanger in there too! I have a knack for dong that --0. Anywho, hope you liked it, and please review.

I also recommend that you check out Beautiful Disaster by Neo-chan. It is my new love in the Taito world and I'm sure the lot of you will adore it.

See you next chapter!

Love

CA


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